


Raspberry

by candlelight660



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25990054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlelight660/pseuds/candlelight660
Summary: He wanted Jaskier to lay down with him.It was not a need, it was a wish, an extra step in wanting, and that made it even worse.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two doesn't seem to be leaving me alone so, here we are.
> 
> Unbeta'd
> 
> Edit: Although it has become multiple chaptered story, each chapter, especially this one could be read as stand alone fics.

Geralt didn’t need much for resting.

He could sleep anywhere; the forest grounds were cushioned enough with soil and grass, a log was more than enough to rest his head. A piece of cloth was best good for freezing cold but other than that, not absolutely required. Same clothes could be used to dress wounds, as a stream of water was good at both tending them, as it was to clean one’s self.

It didn’t mean he didn’t have supplies, though. Being able to survive was a whole other thing, a thing Geralt exceled in. He needed more than survival in order to continually work; he learnt that the hard way. He kept what was absolutely necessary; supplies that kept him warm and safe enough, over the threshold but nothing more.

He was more than accommodated that night; a bag under his head and a cover over his body, his swords resting next to him. He even had spread something under him, keeping his clothes more clean, not that he had ever cared much about that. His stuff was a means to an end and he used them accordingly.

The point was, he was more than comfortable. Why he was unable to rest though, was a question Geralt is frequented battling. The why, he could not answer but the solution, he had an idea for and he didn’t like it, not at all.

He wanted Jaskier to lay down with him.

It was not a need, it was a _wish_ , an extra step in wanting, and that made it even worse.

It wasn’t even for Jaskier’s sake. It was for his: purely and undiluted.

The human needed so much more than Geralt, which was not surprising. Jaskier was barely able to keep up with him on a good day, even when the elements were on their side. He had no idea or the capacity to how to handle the harshness of nature.

Geralt was once told that Jaskier was much better at survival than the average person but that was not the issue with the witcher. It was the surplus nature of the bard.

Jaskier liked to be prepared for ridiculous stuff, even though he didn’t necessarily show it with his actions. Geralt could let an abundance of camping equipment rest but it was so much more than that. The human even carried different vials of oils for different things; he bought expensive ones for his lute but couldn’t help himself to buy several scented ones for his skin and hair and even tried to buy one for Geralt with a cheeky smile plastered to his face.

No one had ever wanted to buy oils for Geralt so he was clueless what would be best response. He settled on a soft grunt, which Jaskier interpreted as an all right and bought it.

Geralt had used it twice and hates how much he ended up liking it both times. The first was out of desperation; he was used to the smell of guts and decaying blood but whatever the Bloedzuiger had devoured before him, it made him want to empty his stomach until the next day. The oil helped settle his shaky stomach, the scent of rich bark mixed with some kind of soft citrus setting his mind to a calmer place.

The second time, there was no excuse. They had parted ways with the bard and Geralt seeked out some comfort and the oil he put on his wrist to smell did just that.

Not that Jaskier would ever know any of this.

The human in question was sitting next to the fire, trying to come up with a new composition. Even though Geralt’s eyes were closed, he could hear his fingers trying to come up with a new tune. Jaskier was always dedicated to his craft. He endlessly and tirelessly worked for his songs and his usually complaining demeanor was absent when he has stayed up late, finishing a new piece. Geralt had always appreciated that fact.

It wasn’t that particular appreciation he was after that night.

It was the bard lying with him, Geralt holding him close. His sleep was one of the few places where Jaskier was absolutely calm, where his grand expressions ceased and a soft serenity took over him. His breathing was even, his body relaxed as he let his restless mind wander into deep slumber.

It was not something Geralt could ever have. He was always taught to have his guard up, rest was one of the places getting killed would be too easy. He liked meditation better but he knew he needed both; they were different relaxation on their own right.

Nights like these, it was easier to have the bard next to him. He gave himself an excuse to stay still and keep his eyes closed and he found a rationale to give into his want; it was an endless cycle of reasoning.

Geralt tried something softer first, something more nonchalant. “You are going to complain about being cold, aren’t you?”

He didn’t open his eyes as he spoke but he knew he had the human’s attention. Jaskier was aware of what Geralt was referring to; the earlier years in their journey, they used to have fights about fires. Jaskier was too young and naïve to believe that fire would keep them warm when in fact, it could burn everything they had while alerting others of their presence. Nowadays, it was a routine for the last person to go to sleep to put out the flames.

“It is not that chilly, Geralt. I am quite aware that you do not perceive temperature changes like most but it is a fine night actually. Perhaps the wind caresses me a few times more than necessary but yet, I should relent!” Jaskier took a brief break to his words, as he did when he got distracted. “Hm. _Winds caress me, as I go to the valley, the valley I lost my –_ cherry or berry? Maybe the fruit allegory is not the way.”

Geralt didn’t want fruit allegories. He wanted Jaskier, quiet and complacent under his arm, his chest rising rhythmically.

“Hm.” He just made a sound for the sake of sounding a little annoyed. “You are going to complain anyway, right when I fall asleep.” He could imagine the expression on the bard’s face, a flailing defense settling to quirky offense.

“After all these years of travel and you would have thought some of my good manners would have rubbed on you by now!” Geralt made a displeased sound. He didn’t want to start an argument, he just wanted –

Nothing. It was fine. Probably that was his reward for reaching out to things that weren’t his to have.

Yet, something in him persisted. He wasn’t quite sure what it was but he gave himself one more try but that was it. After that, if he had failed, he would tuck away this persistent fantasy far away.

He opened one eye as he threw away some of the cloth off him. The bag under his head wasn’t big enough for both of them but he could always let Jaskier have it. The bag was probably one of the reasons why he was trying to engage in his wish in such a way. He was spoiling himself tonight.

It was slippery slope, one indulgence here and there and next, he was giving out free offerings for him to be rewarded by swords or claws.

“Just get in.”

He could see Jaskier’s face clearly even with the withering fire; the bard’s bright eyes wide open as his mouth hanged open. He quickly dismissed creeping thoughts about what he would do to that mouth, as they were more dangerous than any mortal wound. Geralt couldn’t bear to look further down his body for the same reason as he decided to look at his face only.

The human gulped as he stood up, his nervousness now souring his smell. Geralt didn’t enjoy that fact so he closed his eyes, hoping the bard would clean up the fire and put his lute away and come to him.

In a few minutes, the scenario in his mind was played out and a body was carefully lying down next to him.

Jaskier lay down on his back, staying perfectly still as Geralt put down the cover on top of him. It wasn’t like they had not lay down next to each other before, it wasn’t even the closest they had ever gotten.

Geralt just realized that all of those times there were reasons: Jaskier couldn’t stop shivering, the cloth they had was too thin so they had to conserve heat, Geralt was too wounded and Jaskier wanted to make sure he was still breathing.

There was no apparent reason here, no absolute need to do this.

Fuck.

The bard didn’t smell bothered in a sour way, his nervous energy staying but the stench flying away. His heart beat like it usually did, only a little faster; like a rabbit running away in the forest.

Geralt didn’t say anything when he put his arm over the bard’s stomach. He also realized that he was the one lying down on his side, having the upper hand on monitoring the bard’s reactions.

Not that he would, not that he wanted.

Fuck, fuck.

He didn’t plan this through at all, did he? That’s what instincts did to Geralt; it made him decentered and disorganized. He absolutely did not plan on saying another word but yet – “Are you okay?”

Jaskier took a shaky breath before answering. “Yes, of course, I am perfectly fine, thank you for asking. Thank you for sharing your warmth with me on this nice autumn night, yes.”

His words reflected how Geralt felt: painfully awkward.

He did not want this, he wanted steady breaths and uninterrupted sleeping. “Are you… comfortable?”

Jaskier moved around a little, as he was trying to come up with an answer. “I am fine, like I said.” His words come too quick, too shaky, again.

Geralt moved his other arm from his side, reaching out and settling on top of Jaskier’s head and somehow, the bard understood, as he moved his head to rest on Geralt’s bicep. The witcher had always been best at communicating without words and Jaskier had always understood what he meant, from the first day.

When Jaskier settled on his arm, he curled up next to him, lying on his side just like Geralt. “Geralt?” The witcher made a humming sound to acknowledge his name being called out but a sentence did not follow.

Jaskier’s breaths touched his face, implying that they were closer than Geralt had realized. A part of him wanted to open his eyes, take in the view but he had granted himself a wish already, he wasn’t going to be so greedy.

Jaskier settled even further towards him but went a little down, his face now closer to Geralt’s neck. “Nothing.” His tender whisper raised small goose bumps on Geralt’s skin, something that was more rare than blue moons.

Jaskier whispered something next, so low that even the witcher could barely catch it. “Goodnight, my raspberry.”

Raspberry? Was that something Geralt should understand? Was it a nickname for someone, something?

It didn’t matter. The bard was fast asleep in his arms in mere seconds after that and Geralt let it go. It wasn’t his place to pry. He already got what he wanted, even just for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I totally forgot to give credit where it is due: [this is inspired by this lovely piece](https://spielzeugkaiser.tumblr.com/post/626531769318031361/geralt-will-never-ever-say-something-but-he)
> 
>   
> [I'm trying the tumblr thing again](https://alivenowgoodlater.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt always knew there would be a next time.
> 
> He had always known he wouldn’t be able to keep himself in check but he didn’t expect it to happen like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the lovely support! I'm not planning on dragging out this story for too long and actually have a plan, so, stick around to see!
> 
> Also, I just realized that this is my first multichaptered story, that's exciting.
> 
> As always comments are much appreciated as are the kudos! Unbeta'd

Geralt always knew there would be a next time.

It was never a question of if but a question of when. The control he had over his will was taught to be ironclad, endurance at the utmost importance.

Jaskier did to his teachings what he had done to anything else: he came into Geralt’s life and shook everything up so unsettlingly that he didn’t know what his old ways were.

He had always known he wouldn’t be able to keep himself in check but he didn’t expect it to happen like this.

The niceties of autumn was faltering slowly but steadily, sharpness of winter was starting to take over. It was a reminder, a nudge for Geralt to make his way to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier knew very well their time together was coming to a halt, as it did almost every winter.

Jaskier once asked to come with him, when they were newly acquainted. Geralt gave him a look that made Jaskier retreat fast, like he used to do in those early days. The bard babbled on about it being okay and what he could possible do for winter as the witcher took a sip from his ale, rather than to form an answer with a sentence.

He wondered what kind of answer he would have now, if Jaskier were to ask him again. A part of him was terrified of what might his response be, and a part of him was more than eager to find out.

It didn’t matter, he supposed, as Jaskier did not ask.

What he did in instead was, what he always did when they were due to part ways, a sort of a winter farewell ritual, he called it.

They would go to the closest fair, become so inebriated that Geralt forgot all about his training or couldn’t even keep track of his belongings, perhaps disappear at some point with someone else, to appear at dawn or in the following morning.

Geralt came to the striking revelation that both of them hadn’t gone out to find company the last few times they had done this. The meaning of this lack of action escaped him. Something unsettled in his stomach but whether that was a good thing or a bad, he could not say. Instead, they would crash at the closest inn or just curl around somewhere hoping to get anything resemblance of rest.

When Geralt woke up that morning in an itchy bed, with an ache that was promising to split his head right in the middle, that was not what shocked him.

It was rather what, _or who,_ was on top of him.

Jaskier, always finding a way to peacefully slumber, was laid out against Geralt’s chest, his open mouth producing some soft snores, accommodated with some drooling. There were several questions in his mind; why was his chest naked while the other man was perfectly dressed, why was Jaskier lying on top of him instead of next to, but his thoughts went quiet as the seconds passed.

He wished he could take credit for controlling his thoughts but it was focusing on Jaskier’s steady breathing that did the trick. He didn’t even try, it occurred on its own, like breathing at the same time as the bard was the most natural thing that ever was.

His body still hated him after what Geralt had done to it last night but Geralt couldn’t pay attention to his body’s outrageous inputs. Not when Jaskier’s warmth was radiating almost through his skin to his muscles and bones, his smell the only thing his stomach could bear to sense. There was that feeling again, that serenity.

An unwelcomed thought passed through him and he couldn’t chase it away: he hadn’t felt this way since he was a child, running through meadows without a single worry on his mind, like the world only ever existed of him and…

When a single tear escaped from his eye, he didn’t wipe it. Wiping it meant acknowledging it. Acknowledging what, Geralt did not know.

It felt like a cruel joke from life itself, all this unknowing that had been recently piled. Geralt was wise enough to know he would never know nearly enough for The Path but what he had learnt was plenty. The things that were outside The Path, though, had to be irrelevant.

Why did it bother him like an itch that spread like hay fire, this unknowing? Why did it matter? He was asking questions that had lengthy answers, ones that he would bite off more than he could chew anyway.

So, he focused on the man on top of him.

His chest moving against his, the dim light of the rising sun lighting and shadowing his features, his body loose and off guard with sleep. The unknowing, that was partially caused by this man, seemed far away as Geralt focused on him more and more. It didn’t seem as crucial or as boggling.

One of Jaskier’s arms was on top of his collarbone while the other one was off to his side; his hand on top furled slightly, fingers almost caressing Geralt’s neck. It felt ticklish in a silly sense, like young girls would chuckle when they caught a sight of something that made them blush.

Many people have had Geralt felt like a lot of things but this was anew.

When the witcher felt his eyelids betraying his want to watch the scenery ahead, he did what he did best: he fought. He didn’t know when he would ever get to see Jaskier like this, if he would _ever_ again, and he wanted the memory burnt somewhere in his mind. Something for cold and lonely nights, the times he had to remember his reasons to survive.

When his traitorous eyes, which would usually keep him unwantedly wide-awake, closed more and more by the minute, he let himself fall. Sleep was not a friend of Geralt’s but in that moment, they had become allies again. Not a part of him struggled as he faded into unconsciousness; all he knew was constant breathing and solid weight.

***

Geralt didn’t talk of the incident. There was nothing particular to talk about; watching Jaskier sleep was not an event, at least for the bard anyway. They woke up a few hours later, stickier with sweat and last night’s actions taking a bigger toll. Jaskier mumbled something, not an apology but something close as he got off Geralt. The witcher just laid there, not daring to speak.

They went to the market after they were kicked off the inn for keeping their room for too long. Jaskier liked fruit better than actual food after a busy night, Geralt had learnt over the years. Geralt’s stomach preferred more filling things but with the joy on Jaskier’s face, he decided it was all right for a day.

When Jaskier saw some berries, he put his hands on his hips, an action usually associated with him trying to decide something. His blue eyes wandered around a few kinds and stopped on a pinkish one, almost going purple.

His inquiry made Geralt understood why he chose them. “Raspberries?”

The witcher did not know why the other man was fascinated with that particular fruit but he did not dare ask. His stomach became unsettled again, and this time it was for the worse.

They were going to part ways after having something to eat. The berries must be for someone Jaskier was going to see after they have gone their own ways. Geralt remember the fond way he mumbled goodnight to someone, someone Jaskier had nicknamed after the very fruit he was buying.

It was none of his business. It was not.

A part of him wished it was all his business.

There it was again, the slippery slope of wishing. Geralt had not missed it at all. The slippery slope made him more aware of the situation though, as it permitted him to hold himself from asking stupid questions like whom the berries were for.

Jaskier approached him with a nice grin on his face. “Want one? They look quite good if you consider the season. Dymitr said we were quite lucky as this is the last of the bunch.” Geralt did not realize when he had learnt the seller’s name nor did he understand when he, himself was holding one of the berries.

The bard took one of the berries also and hit the one Geralt was holding, like they were toasting ales. When the witcher raised an eyebrow in question, the other man had already eaten his share.

The look on Jaskier’s face was fascinating to watch. His expression went from delighted to wrinkled in mere seconds, as one would do from eating a very sour lemon. The wrinkles faded as satisfaction returned to his features, his closed eyes opening up and looking even brighter than the open seas with content.

Geralt ate the berry quickly, to act as though he had been savoring the taste as well.

He did not remember when he had raspberries before but this one was on the sweeter side, although the buzzing of tang still remained. “It is alright.”

His comment seemed to cheer Jaskier even more. His lips moved to form a word but suddenly stopped, his eyes fixated on the lower part of Geralt’s face. “You have…” Jaskier gestured with his hand around his own mouth but the witcher did not understand. The bard laughed a little as he moved his thumb on Geralt’s lips, gathering some remains of the fruit.

Geralt was perfectly stunned when Jaskier touched his lips and his demeanor did not dare change as Jaskier licked his thumb, maintaining eye contact. His mouth curled into a smile. “Even better.”

From what? Geralt could not even form further thoughts before the other man turned away, a slight flush beginning to sit on his cheeks. “Good berries, Dymitr did not fool me, a felicitous way to start a shitty morning!” The cheer on his voice, although sincere, seemed a bit forced. Geralt, again, did not understand.

Why was this so confusing? What he meant by _this_ , Geralt also did not know.

They went around the market for a bit longer, Jaskier looking around and buying stuff that was not necessary. Even though Geralt had not commented, Jaskier once or twice turned around and said quite loudly, “Well, I’m going to carry them anyway!” When he looked at the items Geralt was holding for him to look around freely, he also added, “Well, after this, anyway!”

When they parted ways after a few hours, Geralt did not realize until Jaskier had vanished into the horizon that he was still holding the raspberries. He probably could catch him if he had rushed and gave him those but he didn’t. He chose to savor all of them instead and it was not about being pitiful, eating something that was not a gift for you. Roach was the only creature around who could judge him about his misjudgments and that was an activity she was used to.

He took them as another gift for the winter, as he knew the memory of that morning would keep him company more often than he would ever admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raspberry is not a fruit I even eat that much but it has became their fruit now, don't ask. You are on this journey with me now.
> 
> [I'm trying the tumblr thing again](https://alivenowgoodlater.tumblr.com/)


End file.
